


Runaway Groom

by melagan



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: First Time, Harlequin, Harlequin Big Bang, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-12-21 12:19:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11944056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melagan/pseuds/melagan
Summary: Pre-Atlantis AU. Written for the Story Works Harlequin Challenge.Unable to go through with the wedding Rodney McKay leaves Jennifer Keller at the altar. A stranger offers him a lift and things suddenly turn a lot more exciting.





	Runaway Groom

**Author's Note:**

> Beta by em_kellsvig (Mischief5) Art by mific.

Runaway Groom

The vestry smelled of lemon wax. Rodney McKay tried not to breathe it in. It was bad enough his dove gray suit made his skin itch and his shoes pinched his toes. The last thing he needed just before getting married was to break out in hives. He sighed. None of his honest complaints had stood up to Jennifer's sweet smile and her assertion that he looked nice. Nice. He had it up to his ears with nice. 

Rodney pulled at his necktie, yanking it loose. It was a nice shade of rose pink. Of course, it was—because had been deliberately dyed to nicely match the wedding colors. Now that he thought about it, the entire wedding had been planned without him. He'd gone along with it, still too besotted with the idea that Dr. Jennifer Keller had accepted his proposal and agreed to marry him. 

To be honest, he had zero interest in frou-frou wedding planning crap. It made her happy and he just assumed it would make him happy too. They were getting married by a reverend friend on her side of the family in a traditional church out in the Wisconsin countryside. Forty of her friends and family would be filling the seats, saying the right words and being perfectly nice. 

Rodney's one friend and best man, Bill Lee, had wandered off somewhere shortly after driving him to the church. Knowing Bill, he was probably trying to impress one of the bridesmaids with his exploits at World of Warcraft. At least Bill had an irrepressible spark of personality. Nothing else here did. 

He realized now how he'd been gently coerced into bland mediocrity with a sweet, reasonable tone and a pretty smile and hadn't even noticed until it was too late. Rodney glanced at the clock. In less than an hour, this could be the rest of his life.... Ow. He held up his hands and stared at the half-moon impressions made with his nicely manicured fingernails. They were deep enough to draw blood. 

Oh god, he couldn't do this. Jennifer would probably hate him for the rest of her life for leaving her at the altar. But if he went through with this, they'd only end up being miserable together. 

The back door to the church lay just a few steps down the hall. And right now, while everyone focused on the proceedings at the front of the church, he had his chance to escape. Taking off his crumpled pink tie and his suit coat he laid them on the chair. Rodney rolled his white shirtsleeves up to the elbow and ran his fingers through his fine, sandy hair in defiance of the hair gel Jen had insisted on. 

The less he looked like a groom the easier he was finding it to breathe. A few quiet steps later and Rodney eased the door shut behind him. Parked cars lined up to his left and the road to freedom ran to his right. The church sat at the top of a hill, not far from town, which was probably the first place they'd look for him. He couldn't face the accusing stares, not today. Decision made, Rodney started walking down the road in towards freedom. 

The road curved at the bottom of the hill and the thin layer of pavement turned to dirt. With the church out of sight, Rodney breathed a sigh of relief. He kicked off his shoes and sat on a grassy hump, rubbing his sore feet. 

He pulled out his phone. He wasn't an idiot and he certainly didn't intend to walk all the way to the next town. That's what cells phones were for, to call taxi cabs. Once he looked up the number…crap. He frowned down at the lack of bars and the annoying no service signal. 

Very briefly he thought about walking back to the church and then he heard the first strains of organ music floating in the air. Rodney was reminded again how Jen had picked out the music for the organist to play so that it would be nice for their wedding guests as they waited for the wedding march to begin. Bile rose up in his throat. No, going back wasn't an option. 

At the sound of an approaching engine, he jumped up. Had someone come looking for him? He stood by the side of the road, sweaty, dusty, and with his shoes in hand while he grasped for some kind of plausible excuse for leaving his bride at the altar. Well, fuck. There wasn't one.

Imagining everything from Sheriff Uncle Bud ready to haul him to jail to his future father-in-law rolling up with a shotgun, it took Rodney a few seconds to realize the engine noise came from a motorcycle. 

The bike came to a stop beside him and Rodney caught his breath. The biker, dressed in all in black with his eyes hidden behind dark glasses, didn't look nice at all. 

"Um, can I help you?" Rodney asked.

"I think that's my line." The biker dropped his shades just low enough to look over the top. "You look like you need a ride."

"Yes!" Luck rarely ran in his favor but this was Lady Luck dropped straight into his lap. A lean and dangerously looking form of luck and it was iffy as to how safe a ride this would turn out to be, but no one in their right mind would think of looking for Dr. Rodney McKay on the back of a motorcycle. "Just to the next town would be fine."

The man Rodney's brain automatically characterized as Dangerous Rider settled his glasses back on his face hiding his eyes. He leaned back. "Might want to put your shoes back on."

"So you'll take me?" On the edge of babbling and confessing his fugitive status, he concentrated instead on shoving his already tender feet back into his shoes. 

Dangerous Rider didn't answer; he just tilted his head toward the back of the bike indicating that Rodney should get on without wasting anymore time.

"Right, right. You know I've never actually been on one of these before. What do I—where do I put my hands? Should I…around your waist? You're sure that's—"

Dangerous Rider pulled Rodney's arms tighter around his waist. The black leather of his jacket was unexpectedly warm and soft under Rodney's hands. 

"—Well, okay then. So, you'll drop me off at the next town?"

The roar of the bike's engine made talking too difficult to continue, but not before he heard Dangerous Rider say, "I've got an idea about that."

  


~*~

John Sheppard relaxed into the ride. The wind tore through his hair while his present companion held onto him with a death grip. He should probably have assured Blue Eyes that he had no intention of breaking any speed records. A beautiful day and open road didn't need speed.

He needed to keep moving like he needed to breathe. Too long in one place and his chest tightened. He'd tried to settle a down a couple of times since the event but then the nightmares would start. No, the destination or how fast he got there wasn't as nearly as important as staying on the move.

He'd stopped to pick up Blue Eyes on a whim. He was a runaway groom if John didn't miss his guess. Passing the church decked out in flowers and pink bows were his first clue. Seeing the guy standing by the road half dressed in wedding attire and looking lost and desperate—it was a sure bet he wasn't picking daisies. 

Even then, John didn’t know for sure that he was going to offer him a ride until he'd looked into those clear, guileless eyes. There was just something so damn earnest about the guy that leaving him to sweat in his misery would be akin to leaving a puppy to fend for itself. 

John snorted. Yeah, he should probably never say that out loud. To anyone—ever. 

He settled back and enjoyed the ride. Blue Eyes' grip never relaxed and John wondered if he was always this nervous. He couldn’t complain about the warm, solid chest pressed against his back, John had to admit, that part was kinda nice. 

Chuck's Place came into view. It wasn't precisely the next town over, more like a watering hole for thirsty bikers with an old garage around the back if anyone needed minor repairs, air, or a fill up before hitting the road. 

The clapboard building had seen better days as far as its paint went, but the foundation was solid and the roof didn't leak. John had more than a little something to do with that. In exchange for patching the roof, Chuck let him crash in the loft for as long as he wanted. It wasn't much but since John hadn't planned on staying long, it worked out fine.

Most of the regulars here were old road warriors that had settled down sometime in the last century. They spent their afternoons drinking cold beer and reminiscing over their glory days. Occasionally a young hot shot would stop by and they'd fill his head full of tales of wide stretches of road and the taste of freedom the likes of which they'd never find again.  
They'd pulled that on John too, his first day here. Gotten him drunk as a skunk when he'd stupidly thought he could hold his liquor better than some old men. 

His stomach still churned when he remembered the morning after. He didn't remember passing out but he recalled how badly he wanted to punch Chuck's lights out when the bartender just laughed at his pain and pointed the way to the porcelain throne. 

Afterward, when John could open his eyes without the bar spinning, Chuck handed him an unholy concoction that he swore was his gramma's hangover cure. It worked. Ever since, as far as he was concerned, Chuck was a friend for life.

John pulled into the garage. "We're here."

"What do you mean, we're here?" Blue Eyes sputtered. John reminded himself to ask what his real name was or at least what he wanted to be called by. That had been another lesson the old geezers had taught him. A man might have very good reasons not to give out his legal name. If he had a handle he went by, you respected it. 

"Figured you could use a drink. C'mon, I'll buy the first round." John waited for Rodney to get off the bike first. He shoved his keys into his pants pocket and stretched. It would've taken a blind man not to notice the way Blue Eyes followed his movement. Throat feeling a little dry now himself, John added, "You're not going to get a better offer today." 

"That…actually doesn't sound like a horrible idea." He stuck out his hand. "My name is Rodney. Dr. Rodney McKay."

"Pleased to meet you, Rodney. Name's John Sheppard." John clapped his hand down on Rodney's shoulder. "Let's take care of that thirst. Then you can tell me what you were doing out in that field all by your lonesome."

Rodney smiled weakly in John's direction and followed him into the bar. 

Over a cold draft, he watched as Rodney almost began to relax. He'd stopped twitching at least. Question was, was he still twitchy because he'd run away from the altar or was he beginning to regret it. In the back of his mind, John couldn't help wondering if Rodney's fiancée was some kind of ogre. Some part of him wanted that to be true. Wanted it because he wasn't quite ready to part company with Blue Eyes yet. Damn. 

The moisture hadn't even evaporated on their glasses when the door opened and four of Chuck's regulars shuffled in. Not a one of them looked under seventy but John knew from experience that appearances were deceiving.

Hannity had a bad leg and liked to pretend he didn't need the cane he leaned on. Pansy—don't ask—looked like he was missing half a jaw and his few remaining teeth were black. Jo-Jo had a dried-out whippet look to him—all lean, desiccated wire—and wore his remaining hair in a long gray braid. At least he had hair.

The fourth in their group was big and bald. Lefty had lost his right-hand up to the elbow years ago according to Jo-Jo. It was some kind of accident that involved an exploding engine. Probably. John wasn't entirely sure because the details changed with every telling. 

The V.A. had provided Lefty with a plastic prosthetic to replace his hand. Lefty kept painted it black to match his dark, mahogany skin. Only, the paint didn't stick so well to the plastic and tended to flake off like age spots in reverse. Like Pansy's name, no one who wanted to keep the remains of their teeth mentioned it.

There might have been three good hips between all of them but John wouldn't bet on it. It didn't seem to slow them down much when they spied fresh bait. Fresh-faced and soft, Rodney might as well have been blood in the water for a school of sharks.

With a glance at the bar, he could see Chuck already pouring five shots of rotgut. He should warn Rodney, he really really should, but hell, maybe a good old-fashioned bender would do the guy good. John quietly nursed his beer and prepared to pick up the pieces.

It came as a complete surprise when he didn't need to.

The afternoon light coming through the windows had taken on the purple hue of dusk. Listening to stories he'd heard a dozen times before, John knew he should be bored to tears. But none of those stories had the benefit of being run through the Rodney McKay perspective—until now.

John sucked in a sharp breath. Blue Eyes was something else all right. While everyone else avoided so much as looking at Lefty's painted hand…well, he hadn't been the only one at the table holding their breath when Rodney grabbed onto to it and pulled it closer for a better look.

Before Lefty could react, Rodney began telling all of them how to improve it. How, with the right tools and a little time, he could easily increase its radial function and strength using carbon polymers. Now, instead of miserably sliding under the table after a decent interval of drinking the way John had, Rodney was snapping his fingers and advising the use of black nail polish instead of paint.

"…and while you'll need a brush of a decent size, those tiny ones are ridiculous for this kind of polish application…" Rodney paused to take another drink. "It should last longer without flaking. You can always pass it off as the latest Goth look."

Lefty looked pleased. "Goth, yeah. I like the sound of that."

Now that the drinking challenge seemed over, John started paying attention to the rest of the room. Sometime within the past hour, the bar began filling up, and judging by the smell, someone had ordered chicken wings. Rodney noticed too. 

"Food!" He turned pathetic looking eyes at John.

John bowed to the inevitable and signaled the waitress over. As soon as he finished ordering, he turned back to Rodney and said, "You didn't strike me as someone that could hold that much liquor on an empty stomach." 

"I'd kind of like to know that myself," Hannity said. He leaned back in his chair and picked non-existent food from his teeth with a bent toothpick. "Been a long time since someone could match us drink for drink, certainly not John over there. He's a hell of a lightweight." 

"Keep that up and you can pay for your own damn wings," John shot back with easy humor. 

"I spent a year in Siberia if you must know," Rodney said. "The Russians I stationed with drank vodka like water. It was either learn to keep up or wake up every morning with something new painted on my face." 

"Goth," Lefty added solemnly. 

"If only it were that polite," Rodney admitted with a sigh.

Nods of understanding circled the table. John was trying to figure out what his next move should be. He had to admit if only to himself, he was in no hurry to leave and drop Rodney off at a hotel and risk never seeing him again. 

"Well now, don't he look familiar." Hannity waved his empty glass at the bar's lone tv. "Looks like we're in the presence of someone famous and we didn't even know it."

Rodney was up on the screen wearing a lab coat and a stilted smile. The whole table hushed as John strained to hear the announcer's words.

_Dr. Rodney McKay went missing at 11:00 a.m. this morning, shortly before his wedding ceremony to Dr. Jennifer Keller. The police were brought in on the case when blood was discovered on Dr. McKay's suit coat and tie left behind at the church. Dr. Keller confirmed that the blood-stained clothes belonged to her fiancé. If anyone has seen this man or has information on his whereabouts please contact your local police._

"Oh, shit." Rodney turned to John and grabbed him by the shirt front. "You have to get me out of here. Her father has—guns. Big guns. I can't go through with a shotgun wedding. I'm too young. I need to be free. I need to live my life without being God-damn nice to everyone. Please, I'll pay you. Just get me out of here."

"Okay." John didn't have a lot of resistance to those big blues eyes looking at him with desperate hope. What the hell, he'd been getting the feeling it was past time to move on anyway. 

"One thing first," John said. "You call Keller and admit you skipped out. I'm serious about this, Rodney. I'll keep her dad off your back but you have to keep the cops off mine."

Rodney nodded. "I'll call. Just from somewhere more private. Can we leave now, please?"

"Think you can walk?" John asked. He helped Rodney to his feet and pointed towards the stairs at the back of the room. "There's a loft above the bar. You can call from there while I square up with Chuck."

Rodney walked away with an unsteady gait but at least he didn't seem at immediate risk of falling on his face. For half a minute, John wanted to be a fly on the wall and eavesdrop in on his conversation with his ex-fiancée and then he came to his senses. That was none of his business. 

He turned back to the table to see the Gang of Four all watching him with too knowing eyes. Crap.

~*~

Rodney made it halfway to the top of the stairs and heavily sat down. Below him, the room turned in lazy circles and he squeezed his eyes shut to make it stop. He breathed out slowly. It had been years since he drank that much and he was feeling the effects. He cracked open one eye and softly groaned. The room was less spinny but not by much.

Jennifer would give him hell if she saw him. He perked up when he remembered that she had no idea where he was. Oh right, he was supposed to call. Rodney fumbled his phone out of his pocket and hit the speed dial. 

"Hello, Jen? Sh, don't yell. Of course, it's me. I'm okay, you can call off the cops," Rodney said, feeling proud that he'd kept most of his words from slurring. He held the phone away from his ear until Jennifer finished yelling. 

"Yes, yes, all my fault. I'm an asshole," Rodney admitted, resuming their conversation. "Not you, you did everything right."

Oh god, now she was crying. He had no idea what to do with a crying woman. Desperate for something to say to end her sobs he blurted, "I think I'm attracted to Dangerous Rider more than I am to you."

The screech on the other end of the line was followed by a loud thump that sounded suspiciously like the phone being thrown across the room. Rodney hung up. "Huh, that went better than I expected."

He stopped staring at the phone, lifted his head, and found himself staring straight into John Sheppard's amused eyes. In this light, they looked more green than brown with just a comfortable hint of crow's feet playing at the edge. Rodney could stare a long time into those eyes.

In the short time since they'd met, he'd seen those same eyes express reserve, sincerity, speculation, and amusement. And danger. Best not to forget the danger. John's dark, rakish hair, slim hips, and ridiculously sensual mouth were all very very dangerous to Rodney's libido.

"Done already?" John asked. He leaned on the stair railing and looked up at him without a trace of expectation or disappointment in his face. Certainly not the kind of reaction his ex-fiancée would have had.

"You're not going to lecture me about my conduct being unbecoming or, or not… what the fuck is the opposite of nice?" Rodney snapped his fingers. At least he tried to, his coordination too impaired to make the gesture more than a rubbery flutter of his hand. "Un-nice…un…. Rude!"

He shook his finger in the direction of John's face. "Are you going to tell me my behavior is rude?"

"Wouldn't think of it, McKay. Frankly, I'm impressed you're still able to talk."

"See, I knew there was a reason I liked you." An idea blossomed in Rodney's alcohol-soaked brain. It was a horrible idea yet perfectly brilliant. "I am a genius!" 

It took a little time to explain his idea to John. It wasn't until his third cup of black coffee before John even began to take him seriously. They were sitting at the same table as before. The waitress kept him plied with a bottomless cup of coffee while the Gang of Four sat there hanging onto every word. 

"Honeymoon." John's voice was flat with disbelief.

"Just think about of it as an all expenses trip paid to Hawaii. The chartered plane, the hotel, even the food. It's all paid for and going to waste. I still have two weeks' vacation and no offense but you don't seem to have anywhere you have to be. Honestly, why are you hesitating? I said I'd pay you to get me away from here and you already agreed."

"He did say that," Hannity pointed out.

"And we all heard you agree," Jo-Jo said. 

"You don't strike us as a man to go back on his word," Lefty's solemn tone was belayed by the mischievous sparkle in his eye.

John sighed. He turned to Pansy. "Are you planning on chiming in, too?"

Pansy scratched under his chin, the scrape of his nails against his whiskers sounded loud as Rodney and the rest waited for his response. Until now, Pansy hadn't said a word all night.

"Well, he seems like a decent fella, Sheppard. You could do worse. Yep. Only, I hear they got nice waves in Hawaii. You should hold out until he agrees to buy you a surfboard."

"I can do that!" Rodney slapped the table and grinned. "Uh, this means you're agreeing to come, right?" 

John's looked around the table full of hopeful faces. "Fine. Throw in a surfboard and you've got a deal." 

"In that case, there's no reason to wait. You pack while I make a couple of calls. Since the original plan was to fly out tonight and get some sleep on the plane, we might as well stick to that."

In the end, Chuck drove them to the airport. Just before they boarded he passed a thermos to John with a wink and neither one of them would tell Rodney what was in it. He didn't press it. His own thoughts were too busy wondering what he'd just gotten himself into.

~*~

Rodney woke up just before they landed. John waited to see the hangover kick in and judging from the agonizing groan coming from McKay it was right on schedule.

"Please tell me you got the number of that bus that hit me?" Rodney moaned. 

"There there now, that’s what happens when you try to out drink the big boys." 

"I hate you so much right now." 

"You say that now, McKay, but in about ten minutes I'm going to be your best friend." John opened the thermos and poured out a cup of herbal-smelling green liquid. "Here." He passed the cup to Rodney whose red-rimmed eyes stared back at him in disbelief. "Ignore the color and try to drink it all. It will help, I swear. " 

John felt ridiculously pleased when Rodney trusted him enough to try it without arguing. He watched as Rodney took a cautious sip before tipping up the cup and drinking the rest down.

"Feeling better?" he asked feeling smug. He knew it worked like a dream on hangovers and that he'd just come to Rodney's rescue. 

"Yes." Rodney cocked his head as if wondering where his headache went. "What's in that stuff?"

"I have no idea and Chuck's not saying, but it works." He reached over and patted Rodney's knee. "Almost time to land. Buckle up, buddy."

A sleek, black limo waited for them at the airport. As they disembarked the driver jumped out and greeted them with wide open arms and a broad grin. "Welcome to the Island!"

He looped a lei first over John's neck and then Rodney's, still grinning. With impressive efficiency, he had their bags packed into the trunk, both of them herded into the back of the limo and suddenly they were on the way to the hotel. 

Talking as he drove, he said, "I have champagne for you, courtesy of the hotel. Something we like to do for our special honeymooners. My name is Healani. Call me anytime you need a ride anywhere on the island."

John waited until Healani turned his attention back to driving before lifting the chilled champagne bottle from its ice bucket. "We're special honeymoons. I wonder what other surprises are waiting for us."

Rodney took one look at the bottle, turned pale, and clamped his hand over his mouth. 

"Too soon?" John teased before taking pity on him and putting the bottle back. "Nice lei."  
Rodney's petals were orange and white, colors that brought out the blue in his eyes. Not that he'd tell him that. His own blossoms were a delicate shade of pink. "I suppose it was too much to expect them to come in black."

"Cute. No, they're part of the package deal," Rodney said. "Touristy, I admit, but I thought Jennifer would like it."

"Are you regretting that you asked me to come with you?" John asked.

"God, no. I'm not sorry I broke off the wedding and I'm not sorry I asked you to come." 

It wasn’t that John didn't believe him, but Rodney looked so damn guilty he knew that something was up. "Good. I'd hate to waste a good surfboard."

The limo pulled up to the hotel and John took one look at the uniformed doorman, the gilt and shine of glass and bronze, turned to Rodney and asked. "All of this is paid for? Some wedding gift. I can see why you didn’t want it to go to waste."

Mutely, Rodney nodded. 

John couldn't help notice that Rodney looked increasing uncomfortable the closer they moved to the front desk, but it wasn't until they were at they checked in that John understood why. 

The concierge didn't blink an eye as he handed them their key cards. "I think you'll find the accommodations more than suitable, and approve the changes in we've made, Dr. McKay. Since it was somewhat short notice if you, or your husband, think of anything else you need, do let us know." He leaned forward and added, "Congratulations." 

John threw his arm over Rodney's shoulder and smiled. "We'll be sure to do that. C'mon, Pumpkin, let's go find our room." He finger-waved his goodbye to the concierge and pushed Rodney toward the elevator.

As soon as the elevator door closed, Rodney said, "I wasn't able to change rooms. I tried, I swear." Color rose in his cheeks as he continued to apologize. "We have to share the honeymoon suite so they assumed we were married. I didn't think it would be so bad. Is it?"

"No problem," and it wasn't. John had slept a lot of places and there was a lot worse out there than sharing a comfortable bedroom. Someone thinking they were a couple was the least of his concerns. Besides, he was more than half hoping that it would encourage Rodney into doing more than just sleeping with him. 

He'd noticed where the concierge's gaze fell when they were walking to the elevator: Right on Rodney's ass. John couldn't blame him; it was a spectacular ass. He spent the next few minutes imagining walking past the front desk, his hand on Rodney's ass, and giving it a proprietary squeeze. 

He shook himself from his reverie when they arrived at their room. He sat his bag down, dropped his keys on the table, and walked into the bedroom where he almost burst out laughing. He understood Rodney's embarrassment now. The only bed in the entire suite was large, heart-shaped and covered in red velvet.

Rodney came up behind him and cleared his throat. "Um, it's for honeymooners. Everything here is."

John turned, and still stifling a laugh, clapped his hand down on Rodney's shoulder. "Yeah, I think I got that part figured out."

"You really don't mind?"

John let his hand linger on Rodney's shoulder before giving it a squeeze. "Relax, it's fine."

If he had to admit part of his past to anyone, it would be that he hadn't let his guard down in two years. Not since the incident. But there was something about Rodney, something that didn't just make it seem possible to let his guard down but made him want to sit back and relax. He'd have to watch that. He couldn't get so comfortable that he forgot the constant threat overhead. 

His eyes lingered on the tilt of Rodney's mouth. Screw vigilance. John gently cupped Rodney's cheek. He gave him plenty of time to turn away or pull back if he didn't want this. Instead, Rodney's mouth opened up in a soft, 'oh'. 

Heart stuttering in his chest, John leaned forward. Their lips brushed. Rodney moaned softly, tilting his head to give John better access. 

With permission to explore, John's entire focus turned towards mapping Rodney's mouth. He deepened the kiss, laying a claim with soft lips. When Rodney opened his mouth and let him in, John went. Time slowed to a snail's pace and he cursed the need to come up for air. Somewhere in the process, Rodney's hands had ended up in John's hair, his gentle tug making a claim of its own. 

"Is kissing you always like this?" Rodney asked breathlessly.

"It's never been like this." There was something wrong with his voice because his words came out husky and raw. Still half dazed from their kiss, John ran his thumb down the soft, stubbly curve of Rodney's cheek. 

Rodney McKay was very much a guy, from his broad shoulders, strong forearms, and yesterday's sandy-colored stubble. John had an inch on him, height-wise, and he liked that. Liked the way Rodney looked up at him through his eyelashes—half tease and half promise. 

At the moment, Rodney's mouth, swollen and red from kissing, had his full attention. With deliberate intent, John gently pressed his thumb against Rodney's lower lip. His knees went weak when Rodney opened his mouth, let John's thumb inside, and sucked. 

"Jesus, McKay. I didn't think you'd…" 

Rodney released his thumb with a dirty sounding smack. "I think we should have sex now. You want to, right? I'm not misreading the kissing and thumb tease…"

With a low growl, John hauled him over to the heart-shaped bed. "Not wrong," he managed to grind out before undoing his pants. He'd stripped to his boxers before noticing that Rodney seemed to be having trouble with his pants. 

"Nervous?" John asked. 

"No. Why would I be nervous?"

Taking pity on him, John reached out to help. He eased Rodney's unbuttoned shirt off his shoulders and tossed it on the chair by the bed. His shoes and socks were already off, but Rodney seemed to have stalled out at his belt buckle. 

Hands busy working Rodney's belt off and getting his fly open, John leaned over and teased in his ear, "I promise to be gentle."

"Oh for the love of, Kuiper!" Rodney shoved John towards the bed and let his pants and underwear drop to the floor, kicking them out of the way. He stood there, hands on his hips and his half-hard cock waving in the breeze. "I think I can figure this out. Even if I weren't a genius I've known how to use the internet for years."

"Figure this out?" John mouthed silently. "Have you even been with a guy before?"

"Well, I'm a guy. And, I might have done some things—to myself—involving fingers. It was—" Color rose in Rodney's cheeks. "Enlightening."

"I just bet it was." Grinning, John held up his hand and waved. "I have fingers."

Rodney tackled him, pushing him down on the bed, and John's cock decided that was a great idea. It took a few clumsy moments to sort out arms, legs, and the best way to fit together so that no one lost an eye in the process. 

John needed to slow things down or he was going to come way too soon. Rodney had him spread eagle and had started exploring his whole body. In his memory, no one had ever spent time just figuring out what felt good. Past encounters, furtive, brief, and straight to the main event, hadn't prepared him for anything like this. Rodney ran his hands over John's limbs, pressing firmly enough not to tickle, thank god, but thoroughly enough to create a human map. Even his fingers and toes were explored. It should have been weird but instead, it felt sensual and John felt cared for in a way he'd never thought he'd needed. 

He hooked his leg over Rodney and rolled him, landing on top. His cock brushed against Rodney's hip, sending shivers of pleasure down his spine. "My turn."

He wasn't going to be able to spend time playing; he couldn't hold on that long. But another time he'd do it right. Make Rodney beg, make him cry for it, and then he could show him what more than a couple of fingers could do. 

Rodney's cock stood proudly upright from a nest of light brown curls. John's mouth watered. Admittedly he hadn't done this for a while. Not since the abduction. Until Rodney, he'd given up on his libido ever returning to normal. He looked up to see Rodney watching him with eager hope in his eyes. 

Reminding himself not to try anything fancy, he bent down, took Rodney's cock into his mouth and sucked. When Rodney almost arched off the bed, he knew he hadn't lost his touch.

"John, I'm…."

Not wanting to break his rhythm he signaled an okay and took him in deeper. Rodney came with a gasp, and John swallowed it all. 

"Oh my god," Rodney moaned. "You broke me."

John nudged at his hip with his hard on. 

"Did you want something?" Rodney asked, "because I think it might be time for my beauty nap."

"McKay!" If he was looking for a reaction, John's hard on should have been clue enough.

"Well, in that case." This time it was Rodney that waved his fingers in the air. "One McKay special coming right up."

If John thought Rodney might hesitate when it came to being with a guy, he was happily proven wrong. Very, very wrong. Rodney's hands were warm, capable, and seemed hell-bent on wringing John's orgasm out of him as slowly and with as much sweet intensity as possible.

When he couldn't hold on any longer, he barely managed a warning before he spilled into Rodney's hands. He was still waiting for his breath to settle when Rodney smugly proclaimed, "I'm a firm believer in practice makes perfect."

"Yeah. I got that." John turned his aborted head slap into an arm hug around Rodney's neck. "Didn't you say something about a beauty nap?"

~*~

Rodney cracked an eye open to the smell of coffee. Coffee good. He could see it on a tray next to the bed accompanied by a bagel. Food good. Ugh. He rubbed his hand over his face trying to wake up because he needed to start thinking in more than two syllables.

He threw the covers off, stretched, and reached for the coffee. The reflection of his bare ass in the mirror caught him by surprise; he didn't usually sleep in the buff. His eyes widened as the memories came flooding back. He'd just had hot, gay sex with Dangerous Rider, who happened to be nowhere to be seen. 

Oh god, the wedding. Jennifer! He remembered drinking—a lot of drinking—and a plane. He'd gotten on a plane sometime the night before, or was it yesterday? Between the eight-hour flight, the five hour time difference, and not knowing how long he'd been asleep, he wasn't even sure what the hell day of the week it was. 

At least there was coffee. He savored the next few sips before reaching for the bagel and was surprised to see a post-it note stuck on the plate under it. 

_Surfing. Back in time for the luau._

Oh. His smile grew. He hadn't scared off John, and if he read it right, there promised to be more sex in his future. He finished his coffee and headed for the shower making a mental note to stop by the front desk later and request an extra change of sheets. 

He stopped in his tracks when he saw the bath towels. Bold, royal blue embroidery decorated the snowy white towels with the words, HIS & HIS. If John wasn't going to make a big deal out of Rodney letting people think they were a married and on their honeymoon, he decided not to worry about it. After all, what could go wrong?

That good feeling lasted until he went downstairs to find more coffee. 

Rodney stepped off the elevator to see a blonde woman with pink streaks in her hair standing at the front desk. Her back was to him, but even at this distance, he could clearly see she was in the middle of an intense conversation with the man behind the counter.

Whatever she was saying stopped when the concierge spotted him. Looking desperately pleased to see him, he waved Rodney over. "Dr. McKay! We've run into a bit of a snafu and you're just the person I need to talk to."

At the sound of his name, the woman turned.

"Jennifer?" Rodney sputtered. "What the hell did you do to your hair?"

"My hair! There is nothing wrong with my hair." Her hand crept up to fondle one pink lock. "I have friends that like my hair, but I suppose I should have expected that from you."

She stopped short of stamping her foot. Instead, taking a deep breath, she said, "You left me at the altar."

The hotel's door opened and closed behind him but Rodney ignored the commotion. Jennifer was right and he had no idea how to make it up to her.

"You highjacked my uncle Seth's chartered plane—"

"Highjacked is kind of a strong word. It was already paid for," Rodney protested.

"For our honeymoon!" This time Jennifer did stamp her foot. "And then, when I get here, I find out you hogged the honeymoon suite for yourself. And I suppose you came with that bimbo you admitted you found more attractive than me!"

"Not more attractive. I said I was more attracted—"

"Rodney! Not helping." 

"You're right. About all of it." Rodney reached out and took her hand. "I'm sorry, and I'll pay you back for everything."

"You're dang right you will. And I'm keeping the diamond." She sighed. "But you weren't entirely wrong either. I got caught up in the idea of getting married, having the fancy wedding, and dressing up like a bride…."

"We would have made each other miserable." 

"I know," Jennifer admitted softly. "It just took me awhile to realize it."

"I'd be honored if I could still call you my friend," Rodney said, "but I'd understand if it's too late for that."

"Don't be silly, of course you're still my friend. Just not a particularly nice one," she teased. 

The concierge cleared his throat. "Excuse me, Miss Keller. I'm sorry to interrupt, but we just had a cancellation and we now have a nice two bedroom available. It's not as large as the honeymoon suite but I think you and your friend will find it quite comfortable."

"Your friend?" Rodney asked, peering over her shoulder and unabashedly looking for the unnamed friend. "Who?"

Jennifer's cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink. "You know, that guy—your best man."

"Bill! You brought Bill Lee on our honeymoon!"

"It's not exactly our honeymoon anymore is it," she snapped back. "At least he's someone I've known for months, not some—how shall I put it? Some anonymous, dangerous chick you picked up on our wedding day!"

Rodney winced.

"And Bill is nice. He's kind, understanding, and really helped me get through the embarrassment of being left at the altar. I thought bringing him here, to say thank you, was the least I could do. I didn’t know you'd beat me to it."

Rodney knew when to let a lost cause go. Desperate to change the subject he asked, "So, do you two want to join us at the luau?" He shot a look at the concierge who wisely nodded back.

"I'm sure there'll be room at our table." He intended to grill Bill on his intentions, but Jen didn't have to know that. 

"Yes, Rodney, we would. Besides, I want to meet this mysterious girl you're so attracted to." 

Uncertain as to how to even begin explaining about John, he jumped when someone cleared their throat in his ear.

John stood at his shoulder looking good enough to eat. Sea green board shorts rode low on his hips, clinging in some interesting places. He wore a soft, dark t-shirt, so worn it was impossible to tell it's original color but it still managed to bring out the green in his hazel eyes. His hair looked liked he'd either just rolled out of bed, or had taken a dive in the water and let it dry in the wind. 

"You're back from surfing, already?" Rodney managed to choke out. He'd much rather be chasing John up to their bedroom than be standing in in a semi-public place and introducing him to his former fiancee. 

"Aren't you going to introduce me, McKay? You wouldn't want Miss Keller here to think you'd run off with a bimbo."

"Jesus, John, how much did you hear?"

"All of it." John took Jennifer's hand and graciously said, "It's good to meet you. While I can't say I'm upset that the wedding didn't work out, I'm glad you and Rodney are making amends."

Her mouth fell open. Visibly pulling herself together she blurted, "Oh. You're a man."

"I am." John's eyes twinkled.

"Oh Rodney," she turned and laid her hand on Rodney's arm. "This explains so much."

"It does?" He turned to John. "I have no idea what she's talking about."

John just looked enigmatic and sexy and was no help at all. 

"Let's let the lady get checked in and we can meet up later." John steered Rodney back toward the elevators. "I need a shower and food." He patted Rodney's ass in clear view of Jennifer and the concierge. "And it will be a lot more fun if I don't have to do either of those alone."

~*~

The sand was warm, his beer was cold, and the ocean stretched out for miles in front of them. By some miracle, they had this section of beach to themselves this afternoon. Leaning back, he let the peace of the moment sink into his bones. Rodney lounged in the chair next to him, sipping something nonalcoholic and citrus free.

The luau last night went well enough, considering they'd shared a table with Rodney's ex and her new boyfriend. He still reserved his opinion on the woman who almost crushed Rodney's spirit, but Bill Lee had fit right in with his Hawaiian shirt and easy good humor. John liked him.

"So, John," Rodney's voice broke the quiet. "I know you like the footloose and unencumbered lifestyle, but I was thinking…."

"Don't think."

"You have no idea how impossible that is for me."

John got up and straddled Rodney's lap, creating an effective distraction. He had a good idea what Rodney's next words were going to be and didn't want to hear it. With two fingertips he raised Rodney's chin until his face was in a perfect position to kiss.

He hadn't missed the fact that Rodney really enjoyed kissing, or for that matter, how John looked in his swim trunks. Rodney's mouth was sweet and responsive. John took his time enjoying the kiss, the little pleasure noises Rodney made going straight to his cock.

"John, we can't, "Rodney gasped, his cock hardening under John's exploring hand. "It's too public."

"No one else is here," John husked. 

"Oh, God."

John pulled Rodney's shorts down just far enough to expose his cock. It sprang free, thick, full, and already beading with precome. Catching Rodney's eye and making sure he was watching, John pulled down the front of his trunks, low enough to frame his own hard cock. Anyone seeing him from behind wouldn't be able to see anything, but Rodney had an eyeful. 

"Do this with me," John said, placing Rodney's hand so it encircled both their cocks. "I like your hands on me and I want to see them." 

Rodney groaned in token protest but didn't hesitate to wrap his hand around them both, pulling them up close together in a snug fit. 

The heat of Rodney's hand went straight to John's groin. He swore he could feel Rodney's heartbeat in the fragile, hot skin of his cock beating against his own. They needed…he grabbed up the sunscreen and shakily smeared some over Rodney's hand.

"Tighter." John braced his hands on the chair, keeping it steady. "What are you waiting for, McKay? The beach to fill up with an audience?"

"Oh, fuck." Rodney pulled, dragging John's cock and his together in a rough rhythm. "If I end up with a voyeurism kink after this," he panted, "I'm blaming you."

"Maybe you want people to see what I do to you and how much you like it," John growled, driven by the thought of how much he wanted that.

"Bastard." Rodney came hard with warm spurts of his come splattering both their bellies.

Balls tight, John didn't even try to hold back, and he came hard, adding to their mess. He managed just enough coordination to tuck himself back in before helping Rodney do the same.

Together, they stumbled up out the chair and walked to the water's edge to clean up. Rodney smiled, a big, goofy expression on his face that did strange things to John's chest. Helplessly, he smiled back.

He knew what Rodney was going to ask and he'd successfully avoided that conversation for now. They'd go their separate ways soon. Nothing Rodney could say would change that. The honeymoon would be over and Rodney had his work to get back to. And he had—he had to keep moving.

~*~

Every now and again, they ran into Jennifer and Bill. Rodney would get a pinched expression on his face and John would immediately suggest they head off by themselves to explore the island. It worked great as a distraction. It also meant that Rodney inevitably took the opportunity to ask questions about his personal life.

John fended off the questions as well as he could. Rodney didn't like it much but it didn't stop him from turning down a blowjob. But now, it was their last night together and time to man up. 

A path of lights illuminated the beach, leading to a table for two under the stars. John took Rodney by the hand and walked with him down the path, pretending to himself that this really was their honeymoon. Somehow, he'd fallen in love despite his best efforts.

He pulled out the chair and encouraged Rodney to sit.

"You didn't have to go to all this effort," Rodney said, looking ridiculously pleased. 

John had the distinct impression that not many people had made an effort to try to please Rodney. It made the things he had to say all the harder. "You deserve it, and…you deserve to have some answers."

"Finally ready to talk? About time." Rodney leaned his elbows on the table. "I'm all ears."

John rubbed his hand across his face, trying to decide where to begin. Done prevaricating, he dropped his hands and straightened his shoulders. "You're familiar with support groups?"

Rodney narrowed his eyes. "What kind of support group?"

"Oh…" Embarrassed, John rubbed the back of his neck before looking back at him. "The kind that helps alien abductees."

"You're saying—" He stopped short. Whatever Rodney had been going to say he suddenly seemed to think better of it. "That's unexpected but not completely unprecedented."

"Really." His expression sharpened. He'd expected mockery or disbelief, not for Rodney to humor him.

"Do you know where I work, John? No, because I made sure not to mention it. People tend to react oddly when they find out I work at Area 51."

John curled his hands into fists. "Don't make fun of me, Rodney." 

He leaned forward, his voice low and intense. "You don't know what it was like. I never believed the stories about aliens visiting Earth. Frankly, I thought people that said they'd been abducted by aliens were crackpots. Then it happened to me."

"I'm not making fun, I swear, John."

John ignored him. "A couple years ago I was sitting in my living room watching a game on TV. Just a regular Saturday afternoon like a dozen others. I got up to go to the kitchen to make popcorn. I was standing in front of the microwave when suddenly, I was surrounded by a column of blinding, white light."

He glanced up a Rodney who waved his hand in encouragement. Emboldened, John continued.  
"When I could see again, I discovered I was on a spaceship. There was this little, gray alien with big, dark eyes holding some kind of medical scanner and waving it over me. Look, I know how this sounds, but I swear it happened."

"The As—alien," Rodney choked. "The alien, you're certain about it being small and gray?" He reached out and grasped John's hand. "I can't explain to you why I believe you. You'll just have to trust me when I say I do."

"Ass alien." John snorted. "Good one. Guess I should be glad I wasn't probed. Yeah, I'm certain because the same thing happened a year later. Only I wasn't in my kitchen, I was driving to Moody at three a.m. to prep for a mission. My truck stalled, and when I got out to check the engine, the bastards got me. Long story short, my commanding officer thought I went AWOL. When I got back and tried to explain—"

"They discharged you," Rodney said carefully. "Medical?"

"Bingo." John leaned back with a relieved sigh. "That's more than I've talked about it in, ever. So, I'd like to stop now and just enjoy our last evening here." 

"It doesn't have to be our last evening together."

"Yes, Rodney, it does. I can't stay in one place too long. I won't."

John looked up at the night sky, murmuring aloud, "They still want me. They're coming back and I don't intend to be a sitting target."

~*~

Rodney shut the door to his office and leaned his head against it. It had been three months since he and John parted ways. Sheppard was no doubt gallivanting around the countryside on his motorcycle, probably picking up stray runaway grooms. Rodney's fist hit the door with a solid thud.

"Dr. McKay, are you all right?" a feminine voice asked through the door. "Should I get Dr. Keller?"

"No. Go away, Miko. Wait. If you really want to help, go write an equation for powering a zero point module. That would actually be helpful."

Wincing, Rodney inspected the knuckles on his hand. "I suppose a couple of band-aids couldn't hurt."

He hadn't heard a word from John since they parted ways. He'd tried his damnest to lose himself in his work and had failed miserably. It didn't help that there were days it felt like half of himself was missing. Most days. Every damn day. Sighing, he sat down at his desk and stared at the useless pile paperwork in front of him. 

He was missing something. What drove John to keep moving? The answer was so close he could almost touch it. Yes, there was the fear of alien abduction—but why was John so certain it would happen again? 

He wondered if it would do any good to ask O'Neill talk to the Asgard and tell them to leave John alone. Unlikely, but he could try. That didn't solve the question of why John believed they'd come for him again—unless—

John stole something off the ship. Not just any old thing, but something the Asgard wanted back. Marker in hand, Rodney jumped up and walked over to the whiteboard. He quickly wiped off the game of hangman and began taking notes. 

The Asgard were looking for humans with certain genetic traits. They had advanced technology including some from other races. Point of fact: O'Neill thought they knew a lot more about the Ancients' technology than they let on. 

Assume they wanted humans with the ATA gene. They'd abducted John twice. Did that mean John had the ATA gene? The more Rodney thought about it, the more he was certain that was the case. Only he couldn't prove it. 

Assume John had the gene. If, and it was a big if, he stole Ancient tech from the Asgard right out from under their tiny noses, then yes, he'd bet his left nut they'd come after John again. 

As the pieces clicked into place, the more certain he was that he had it right. He just had to figure out how to prove it. Prove it and then find a way for John to feel safe enough to stop running.

~*~

John stood on the doorstep of Chuck's Place, nervously rubbing the charm on his key ring. Coming here was probably a mistake but here he was anyway. The charm's soft, blue glow reminded him that he'd been in much worse situations and done okay. Taking a deep breath, he pushed the door open and walked in.

The place hadn't changed much. It looked like one of the windows had been replaced and someone had put a little extra spit and polish on the old wood furniture. Chuck's welcoming smile was exactly the same though, and John blew out a sigh of relief. 

"Sheppard!" Chuck wiped his hands on a clean, white bar towel and reached out to shake John's hand. "No time long see."

A smile crept across his face as he shook Chuck's hand. It was the first genuine smile he'd worn since leaving Rodney at the airport three months ago. "I don't suppose you still have that loft available for a couple of nights? I'd be glad to do some work around the place in payment."

"For you, sure." 

The tension in his shoulders eased another inch. Somehow, he hadn't expected it to be that easy. "Great."

"The regular gang won't be in for another hour, Shep, so you've got time to tell me what's bothering you."

"You're too sharp for your own good," John said. 

"Ha! It's got something to do with that McKay fella, hasn't it." Chuck took out two beer glasses, filled them from the tap, and carried them over to the table. "Sit." He pushed John's glass over to him. "Talk."

"And I thought I was a man of few words."

Chuck raised one eyebrow.

"Fine. Yes, it's about Rodney. It should have been just good fun. Casual stuff." John shrugged. "You know how it is."

"But…." Chuck encouraged.

"I can't get him out of my head. It's as bad as…." John took a drink and shrewdly watched Chuck over the rim of his beer glass before adding, "—being abducted by aliens." 

Chuck almost spit out his mouthful of beer. 

John leaned back in his chair and grinned. "Honestly, I don't know why I came here."

Maybe he'd come because this was the first place he'd really gotten to know Rodney. Or maybe he missed him and wanted to relive a few fond memories. Or maybe he'd come here because he needed a kick in the ass. 

"Heads up," Chuck warned. "The gangs here early." 

Hannity, Pansy, Jo-Jo, and Lefty all came through the door and ambled over to their favorite table as one unit.

"John, we heard you were here," Hannity said. "Sit down." He flashed John a wicked grin. "The fellas and I want to hear all about your honeymoon."

~*~

After two days, Rodney finally gave up trying to get a word in with Colonel O'Neill. He went to the one person he knew could help. Lucky for him, Major Samantha Carter was here in Area 51 checking on the progress of the 302 upgrades. He'd never get a better chance.

Rodney waited until she took her lunch break. He elbowed two people out of the cafeteria line so that he could stand directly behind her and started talking. "I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important," he began. 

Sam ignored him. Deciding he should try to butter her up, he poured her coffee, added cream and sugar the way she liked it and carried it to the table. 

"I didn't say you could sit with me," Sam said.

"Yes, but you didn't say I couldn't." Rodney gave her his best winsome smile. 

"Fine. What do you want." 

"Look, I know we got off on the wrong foot, but you have to admit that subroutine I wrote saved the planet."

"That we wrote. Okay, yes, you helped." She shook her head and graced him with a tiny smile. "What do you need, Rodney."

"You're aware Dr. Keller and I broke off the wedding?" Rodney asked.

"She mentioned that you left her standing at the altar, yes."

"Without going into detail, I met someone that I'm certain has the ATA gene. He also has something of an issue with the Asgard, as in they're way too interested in him. I'd consider it a big, personal favor if Colonel O'Neill could help." 

"I'm not sure what you think I can do…."

"Great! I knew you could handle it." Rodney stood leaving her to finish her lunch in peace. He had some phone calls to make.

~*~

Rodney sat in his lab and debated the merits of leaving yet another voicemail for John. Colonel O'Neill had come to Area 51 to speak to him personally—well, that and to check on Sam's progress with the 302's—and Rodney wasn't too shy to take advantage of an opportunity. If anyone could talk John into coming to Area 51 O'Neill could.

He cursed the horrible decision he and John had made to make a clean break of it. That had been more John's idea than his. He'd spouted some nonsense about it being better for Rodney this way. Bullshit. He'd lost fifteen pounds because the food tasted like crap these days and he hadn't had a decent night's sleep in three months. How was that better for anyone?

"Dr. McKay!" O'Neill's voice demanded over the intercom. "You'd better be able to explain the ruckus going on outside the gate."

"I have no idea, Colonel," Rodney answered.

"Just get your ass to the control room and take a look at the cameras. From where I'm sitting it looks like a geriatric biker gang is trying to climb over the barbed wire fence. Can you give one good reason why I shouldn't have them shot for trespassing?"

An unpleasant suspicion crossed Rodney's mind. The Gang of Four. It couldn't be. "Um, what makes you think that has anything to do with me?"

"Because they're holding a big ass sign that says, _Rodney McKay, John changed his mind._ Who the hell is John?"

"John changed his mind?" Rodney ran to the control room. The view from the cameras showed John shading his eyes as he looked up at the camera. All in black, sexy as hell and wearing a hopeful expression.

"Oh my god, John changed his mind."

"Focus, McKay!" O'Neill glared. "Well?"

"Don't shoot him!" Rodney's hands flailed as he tried to speak faster than his mouth allowed.

"Fine, I won't shoot him. Calm down, McKay, before you have a heart attack." O'Neill said. 

Sam, who'd been watching the entire thing, asked, "Is that him, Rodney?" 

Reading the answer in his face and in response to O'Neill's raised eyebrow she added, "I think talking to this man would be wise, Colonel. McKay thinks he has the ATA gene and also has reason to believe he's already made contact with the Asgard."

"Really? Hmm, I suppose that's a story I should hear then." O'Neill nodded for the marines to stand down. "Just him. Let this John fellow in and send the rest on their way. I don't think we have enough Ensure to go around."

Rodney thought he would burst out of his skin waiting for John to be allowed across the perimeter. When they were finally standing face-to-face, he stood, hands opening and closing as though trying to grab the words he needed to say straight out of the air. 

Swallowing thickly, he finally managed, "You're here."

John looked down at the floor and rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah."

He looked up, met Rodney's eyes and both of them began grinning at each other. 

"Quit it," O'Neill snapped. "Jeeze." He shook his head. "McKay, take your friend to go see Dr. Keller and find out if he has the gene."

"Or John could just turn on the Ancient device he stole. Couldn't you, John?" 

"You knew?" John asked, surprised.

"Not for certain until right now. Well, do you have it?"

"Oh, boy." John pulled his keys out from his pocket and rubbed across the charm. It immediately started glowing. 

"It was on your keys the entire time! I don't know how I never noticed." 

"Well, think about." John leaned to whisper in Rodney's ear. "I usually took my keys out of my pocket just before taking off my pants. You had other things to focus on." 

Feeling the heat rise in his cheeks, Rodney grabbed the keys from John.

"I don't think it actually does much, " John said.

"No, you wouldn't." Rodney turned it over in his hands. "Unless I missed my guess, which I highly doubt, this wouldn't do anything but glow unless you would trying to sonically adjust a hyperdrive engine."

"Do the words non-disclosure agreement mean anything to you, McKay?" O'Neill reminded him.

"It does, but John already knows about the Ancient devices and the Asgard. The idea of aliens isn't exactly new to him. I know don't have to remind you that need people with the ATA gene." 

"Fine. Give him an NDA to sign. But," O'Neill held up one hand, "no more talk about anything to do with the program until he signs."

"My medical discharge, sir…" John began, but O'Neill waved off the objection. 

"I'll make some phone calls. Now go—shoo. Read and sign the damn thing so we can move on. We've got lots of work to do.

Two hours later O'Neill's voice could be heard yelling down the hallway, "What do you mean McKay needs time off for a second honeymoon?!"

____

~*~

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art for Melagan's Story](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11921112) by [mific](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mific/pseuds/mific)




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